She Used To Be Mine
by Kryschenn
Summary: Legolas reflects on the past and possibilities lost when he first learns that Arwen and Aragorn are in love. Starts out neutral but then shifts to Legolas’ POV and back.


_Summary: Songfic. Legolas reflects on the past and possibilities lost when he first learns that Arwen and Aragorn are in love. Starts out neutral but then shifts to Legolas' POV and back. (Updated 9/2009 to correct some glaring spelling errors.)_

_Setting: Mirkwood, about 37 years before Fellowship, year 2980 of the Third Age. Aragorn and Arwen recently became reacquainted in LothLórien and have plighted their troth to one another. (For the full story, refer to The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, Lord of the Rings.) In my view, Legolas and Aragorn have been very good friends since Aragorn was about 20 years old. Aragorn is now 49 years old and visiting his friend to tell him the good news._

_Disclaimer: Tolkien is God. I do not own 'Lord of the Rings,' unless you count the dog-eared and well-worn editions which I purchased at the local bookstore and are now sitting on the top shelf in my bookcase. I do not own the characters or settings herein, and am using them without permission, but with love and the best of intentions. I am not making any money or any other form of compensation from the writing of this songfic, other than the simple satisfaction of having finally written it since it's been buzzing around in my head for a long time now. The song "She Used To Be Mine" was written by Steve Dorff and Marty Panzer, and is sung by the incomparable, Tony Award-winning Broadway actor Michael Crawford (all bow to the golden-voiced Phantom of the Opera!) on his "Touch of Music in the Night" album (Atlantic Records). That being said, I did have to alter one of the lines in the song which originally says, "She cries at movies on TV" to "She cries whenever you must leave," because, well, face it, folks, there ain't no TV or movies in Middle Earth!_

* * *

"Well, _mellon-nîn_," the blonde Elf laughed, swinging down with his knees hooked around the branch he was perched upon. The graceful movement left him with an odd perspective for looking his Human friend in the face, but neither of them really seemed to mind that the Elf was, in fact, hanging upside-down. "All through dinner, and in fact since the very moment you arrived, you have hinted and implied that you have news of the most exciting nature, yet you have told me nothing definite. Come, now, Aragorn, there is a limit even to the forbearance of an immortal!"

"Very well, you impatient creature, if you insist!" Aragorn teased in return. Trying the 'forbearance of an immortal' had been a favorite sport of his since he was young and brought to live amongst the Elves of Imladris. Although Aragorn partook of his game less often now that he was an older, experienced Ranger, Legolas still occasionally fell victim to it, almost as often as Elladan and Elrohir did. But as Aragorn reflected on the news he had to tell, the teasing expression on his face was slowly replaced as a faraway smile crossed his rugged features. "Yes, it is exciting..." he sighed happily. Then, he shook his head, and grinned at his friend. "Come down from there, and I will tell you lest you die from the suspense!"

Laughing, the Elven prince swung his lithe body slightly before releasing his knees' hold on the branch. Dropping with a graceful midair flip, he landed neatly on his feet. "Very well then. I am down," the Elf announced, finding a burl at the base of the tree that was an inviting-looking seat. Legolas had tried not to let it show that his natural curiosity had gotten the better of him hours ago, when Aragorn had first arrived at the gates of the Elven kingdom, claiming that he had something wonderful to tell his friend the Prince. He had tried, but failed miserably. "Now tell me!"

"Well, I..." Aragorn trailed off. Now that it was time to tell his friend his exciting news, that he had fallen in love, he discovered it was difficult to find the words he needed. It should have been simple enough. In matters of weaponry, or strategy, or hunting and herb lore, Aragorn could speak for hours with all the confidence in Middle-Earth. But in this, a matter of the heart, he suddenly found himself inadequate and tongue-tied. Why did he find himself embarrassed to admit such a wonderful thing? Was he afraid his friend would be jealous? Would Legolas be hurt, thinking that this would cause their friendship to fade away? Or was it that he feared that admitting he'd fallen in love would show he was somehow weak? He desperately wanted Legolas's approval of his new relationship, but irrationally, he feared it would not be given.

Legolas, on the other hand, was about to be undone by the suspense. "Estel..." He said Aragorn's Elvish name in a mock-warning voice, thinking that the Ranger was inventing a new form of torture by purposely drawing this out as long as he could.

Legolas's playful threat finally prompted words out of Aragorn. "Legolas, I... I met a woman... she... I..." The normally sure Ranger fidgeted uncertainly. "I think I'm in love."

Legolas's dark eyebrows nearly shot off the top of his forehead, they raised so quickly in surprise. But he did not look displeased, far from it. He brightened considerably as a grin split his fair face. "Aragorn... you?! In love?" The surprise in his voice made Aragorn start to shrink in despair, thinking he was being mocked. Obviously the Ranger had not immediately noticed the smile on Legolas's face, and his concern was only alleviated when the Elf continued, "And it is about time, I must say! I was beginning to worry for you! Congratulations, _mellon-nîn,_! Now tell me about this wonderful woman who has captured your heart!"

"Oh, she's the most beautiful, the kindest, the sweetest, the loveliest Elf in all of Middle-Earth!" Aragorn breathed, too wrapped up in both his relief at Legolas's acceptance, and the image of his love in his mind's eye, to point out that Legolas had no right to be worried about a 49 year old man having never been in love, when the prince was currently 2,894 years old and still quite unattached. "I have never met someone so lovely, so well-bred and gentle. Legolas, it's like... like she is made of starlight and rose petals, and yet when she needs to, she fights like a warrior and can even outride me on a horse. I never, ever would have believed that anyone could be so perfect, and so wonderful!"

Legolas smiled at his friend's youthful enthusiasm and starry outlook on love, and kindly refrained from pointing out that he himself could also easily outride Aragorn. "She sounds lovely," he nodded, watching with amusement as his friend's face beamed like a signal beacon. "What is her name?

"Her name," Aragorn whispered, almost as if it were a prayer to the Valar, "is Arwen Undómiel."

Legolas's smile froze on his face, but Aragorn was too giddy with love to notice.

Arwen.

The prince's heart seemed to sink into his stomach. No stranger to that name, he knew that Aragorn's high praise barely did the lady justice. He knew because he, too, had once loved the beauty known as Arwen Undómiel, had held her heart, and like an utter fool, had let it slip away.

And now that heart had been given to Aragorn.

(Legolas's POV)

_I understand._

_There's nothing I can do._

_I can't be what she needs_

_As long as she needs you._

_If you're the one she'll turn to_

_From now on,_

_There are things that you should know_

_About her, when I'm gone._

So lost am I by the sudden shock and flood of memories it has released, that I almost do not hear you as you continue to sing the praises of your beloved Elf-maid. You hold a treasure in your hands now, _mellon-nîn_, a bright star by which even the moon pales in comparison in the night sky. Of course you have fallen in love with her. It is impossible not to love her once you have met her.

My father... he has no great love for your foster father, Lord Elrond, yet long ago, neither of our families could deny the advantages in a marriage alliance between Imladris and Greenwood the Great. To this end, they gently steered Arwen and I together, even as children, hoping that the affection of young playmates would grow into the devotion of lovers. And it did... though the tribulations of life sought to tear us apart before we ever truly considered marriage.

I know what you see when you look at her: the most beautiful, gracious Elf of our time. But I grew up with her as my playmate and surrogate sister, as well as my distant cousin, for her grandfather, Lord Celeborn, and my father are of the same bloodline, kinsmen of Elu Thingol. I have known her almost all my life. Perhaps someday I shall tell you about the many facets that make up the priceless gem that is Arwen.

_She's not as brave as she might seem,_

_And when she's had a scary dream,_

_If you don't hold her she won't sleep all night._

_She's not as strong as she should be,_

_She cries whenever you must leave,_

_And counts on you to see that things go right._

The daughter of Lord Elrond is more than just the Undóómiel, the beautiful Evenstar of the Noldor, and she is more than the warrior maid who races the wind and fights with a graceful deadliness that is hers alone. No, she is far more complex than that. She likes to sew, she loves pretty dresses, and she can have a knife at your throat before you even know what happened. And no matter how strong she wants the world to believe she is, there is a part of her that wants to be loved and protected.

I remember a day when a small party of Orcs ventured too close to the borders of Imladris. I had been visiting that summer, and Arwen and I - along with Elladan and Elrohir, ineffectual chaperones that they were - were picnicking beneath the elms when the Orcs stumbled upon us. Quick as lightning, her sword Hadhafang flashed confidently beside her brothers', and yet when the Orcs were all dead, she kissed me and named me her rescuer... even though I had only killed five of the brutes to her seven.

It was later that night that a soft noise outside my guest room roused me from my reverie, and as I hastily pulled on a robe and went to investigate, I discovered something I was unprepared for. Arwen, my beautiful Arwen, wandering the moonlit halls in her long, white sleeping gown, the silver tracks of tears glistening on her alabaster cheeks. I remember wiping the tears away with my thumbs and asking her what was wrong. Never did I expect her hesitant answer. The Orcs, it seemed, would not leave her alone. Even though they were all slain, many by her hand, their snarling, twisted faces and their putrid, bloody corpses chased her and haunted her in her dreams that night. She cried openly, shamed by her own fears, and begged me to make the terrible nightmares go away.

I held her that night, for a bittersweet eternity, curled together in silence on the comfortable sofa in the great Hall of Fire, relishing her nearness even as I stroked the spun ebony of her hair to soothe her turmoil away. When at last she did fall asleep, I carried her quietly back to her bed and gently kissed her star-graced brow before leaving her to her peaceful, dreamless slumber.

I never told anyone of her fears that night. Mayhap I should not even tell you, _mellon-nîn._

_But she's a chance to make your dreams come true,_

_To have someone who thinks there's nothing you can't do._

_A chance to live each day and care they way you always knew you could._

_Take care of her for me,_

_She used to be mine._

With Arwen by my side, anything was possible, for she looked at me with such trust and adoration that I know I could have leapt into the air and flown if only she told me that she believed I could. I loved her, with all my heart and my immortal soul. Stars twinkled more merrily, flowers smelled sweeter, and the world grew more vibrant just because I knew Arwen was in it. To my father's mild annoyance, I once spent an entire day blissfully admiring a single strand of her hair that I found clinging to my jerkin after she had rested her head upon my shoulder for a moment. I still have that little strand of midnight safely coiled in a jeweled silver box.

What could someone like me have done to deserve such bliss, even for one single day? I was so very, very happy. And it seemed like all Elvendom was happy for us, captivated by what they called the beautiful vision of the Princess of Rivendell and the Prince of Mirkwood together. What could be more perfect?

But that is all in the past now. I am a fool to have let it go, and I blame no one but myself. May you find the same happiness I once felt, _mellon-nîn._ Cherish her and love her and do not let that priceless treasure go, Aragorn. Do not become the fool that I am.

_She's not her best on rainy days,_

_She'll test your love a hundred ways._

_She plays with your emotions like a song._

_She chases dreams that can't come true,_

_And always tries to hard for you,_

_And never knows just how to say she's wrong._

Yes, we were so happy. Yet few looked beyond that beautiful image to see there was more to us than an enchanting royal love affair. Arwen is oft seen as a vision of perfection, an ideal of beauty and grace. I am sure this is what you see now, so new are you in your love for her. But in time you will come to know that she has the same moods and quirks and failings as any other Elf. The only difference is that you will love her all the more for her faults.

There was a morning, long ago, when we had planned an early hunting trip for pheasant. But that day turned out to be the first cold and rainy day of the season. You know that the cold does not affect Elves, but we knew that we would have no chance of finding game that day as the pheasants would be hiding from the storm. Arwen was so disappointed. I remember her turning from where she frowned out the window at the heavy skies, and I was surprised when she moodily snapped at me as if the storm were entirely my fault. Over the next two days, she remained gloomy and disappointed and continually sulked about missing the hunt, until finally I gave in and took her hunting the white deer in Greenwood the Great to make it up to her. Never once did she admit that the whole episode was caused because the storm and the disappointment had made her grouchy. It was from that small bout of emotional blackmail that I first learned Arwen was not the utter pinnacle of grace that I believed her to be. But I also quickly set about learning how to weave the magic of nature into song, to part the clouds and bring forth the sun or the stars,* so that I would never see my beloved Arwen so disappointed again. It took years of patience and hard work to master the skill, but for Arwen, I would do anything without complaint. That was how devoted I was to her.

And it is a part of Arwen to be equally devoted to those she loves. I fear that you will need such devotion, Aragorn. Few Elves allow themselves to love a mortal, and many will try to dissuade her from loving you, including, no doubt, her protective father. "Aragorn is but a daydream," he will say to her. "Loving him will be your doom." And he is right to try to protect her, for he is a father who adores his only daughter. But in the end, it will be her decision to make. Because she has Human blood in her veins, she will have the choice to give up her immortality for you. If she loves you as I know she will, then she will defy her father and give up her immortal life's grace, sacrificing all that she has and all that she knows, just to be with you.

It is a rare and precious gift she will give. Take it and hold it close to your heart, grumpy days and all.

_But she's a chance to make your life complete,_

_A chance to take these lonely days and make them sweet._

_A chance to feel so good,_

_That everyone will wish they could be you._

_Take care of her for me,_

_She used to be mine._

I know your fate, Aragorn son of Arathorn, _gwador-nîn,_ even if you yourself wish to deny it now. You are the Heir of Isildur, the Lost King of Gondor and Arnor, whom your foster father named _Estel_, or Hope in the language of Westernesse. And Hope you shall be, for in these trying times, your people will need you. You will rise to the Throne, though you are loath to think of such possibilities now. This age is being swallowed in darkness, but with Arwen by your side as your Queen, the purity and depth of your love will shine out as a bright beacon heralding safety and security for your people. The citizens of Gondor, your people, will love you and be enchanted by your Queen - how could they not? And you will find comfort and strength in Arwen, for as beautiful and gentle as she is, you will have no stauncher supporter, no closer confidante, and no shrewder adviser than she as you rule from your Throne.

You need her, Aragorn, and you are blessed to have found the light of her love in these dark times. Queen, wife, lover, friend, advisor, she will be everything to you, and when you claim the Throne, as I know you eventually will, to the people of Gondor your union will be the fairy-tale romance that all of Elvendom expected she would have with me... if only I had thought to seek her heart again when I realized I had lost it.

_She'll never leave you any time alone._

_She needs more time and tenderness_

_Than any one you've known._

_But she's a chance you'll never have again,_

_A chance that always seems to come to other men._

_A chance I can't forget,_

_A chance that I somehow let slip away._

And why did I act such a fool, and lose this priceless gem of Imladris? Through no conscious choice of my own, though I do not seek to absolve myself from blame. Though she and I were born in the peace following the Last Alliance, soon enough the shadows of the world began to grow long, as I fear they now begin to grow again. A blight, a pestilence fell across the Greenwood, creeping its insidious tendrils out from Dol Guldur. My home was falling into darkness. Mirkwood it was renamed, and Orcs and all manner of evil creatures set upon us. Every bow and every sword arm was needed to defend my father's kingdom and keep the evil at bay. I was needed. I could no longer spare the time to make my customary long visits to Imladris, and certainly Mirkwood was no safe place for her to journey to visit me. At first I sent her long messages every week, and she answered, but soon the road was not safe for messengers to be running simple love notes, and as I grew more involved in the day to day defense and running of the kingdom, I had less and less time to think of her. Soon, the letters stopped altogether. The last I had heard, she had gone to the haven of LothLórien, to which I have never been. Seasons turned unmarked for me, and though my skills as a warrior were honed fine, the woman I once thought I could not live without now barely occupied my thoughts. When the shadow was chased out of Dol Guldur by the White Council, much of the evil was lifted from Mirkwood, though Orcs yet roamed freely and our borders needed to be defended. Still, for that blessed time, our defenses needed not be so heavy. And yes, since the roads were safer, I could have easily sent a message to Arwen then, or I could have traveled to LothLórien and once again beheld her incomparable beauty with my own eyes.

I am ashamed to admit that I never even thought about it.

_Take care of her for me,_

_She used to be mine._

I love her still. I freely admit it. A part of me wishes that I were still by her side, loving her, cherishing her, caring for her so deeply that it hurts. But I know I have long since forfeited that right. I will not be jealous of you, _mellon-nîn_, and I will not fight you to reclaim the heart I so foolishly let slip away. She deserves better than my pettiness. I wish you all the joy and happiness that I once knew with her. In return I ask only that you care for this beautiful, bright star as she deserves. Do not doom yourself to repeat my mistakes. Love her, and never stop showing her your love and devotion.

Valar permitting, I will stand beside you, _gwador-nîn, _until the end as your destiny fulfills itself. You will never know how my heart aches to see you with the woman I loved, for a fool like me has no right to complain when the mistakes were so clearly my own. My friendship will remain as true to you as ever, and even if my one-time love with Arwen is nothing more than friendship now, then I shall still thank the Valar every day for such a blessing, for They have granted me so much more than I deserve.

* * *

"Legolas?"

The Elf's blue eyes snapped up in surprise to meet Aragorn's grey ones, before looking away discreetly, mildly flustered. Aragorn had been speaking and Legolas was embarrassed to realize he did not know how much of the conversation he had missed in his distraction.

"Are you all right?" Aragorn pressed, concern for his friend now overriding the starry shine of love that had glazed his eyes a few moments ago. "You look a little pale. Well, paler than usual, anyway."

"Nay, 'tis nothing," Legolas lied. "I was merely reflecting upon your wonderful news. Understand, _mellon-nîn_, I have not seen her in some time, but I know the beautiful Arwen very well. Not only are we distant cousins, but she was... she was like a sister to me when we were younger." It took all of Legolas's strength of will to hold in a wistful sigh. Perhaps Aragorn would know the truth someday. But Legolas would not be so petty as to tell him today. Instead, the Elf smiled wanly and said, "I am happy for you both. Take care of her for me."

_~ End ~_

*_Weaving the magic of nature into song, to part the clouds and bring forth the sun or the stars._ That is how I interpret the sentence from Chapter 2, "The Riders of Rohan," of Book III of Two Towers, regarding Legolas singing while the others rested: "...and as he sang the white stars opened in the hard black vault above."

Translations:

_Mellon-nîn:_ My friend.

_Gwador-nîn:_ My brother, but not a brother related by blood, rather it refers to bonds of brotherhood formed through long friendship and loyalty.


End file.
